Cling
by fieldagent85
Summary: Baby Clark has gotten a little too attached to his mother, prompting his father to stage an intervention.


It had taken Martha Kent five years have a child in her life and when she found him, she vowed she would never let him go. What she hadn't planned for, however, was him not letting _her_ go.

Young Clark's first impression of Earth had been the warmth of his mother's protective arms, and even as time began to pass, he clung onto that image, and to her. Whenever she was in the room, he was attached at her hip. When she wasn't in the room, he was trying to find her. He couldn't fall asleep unless she was in bed with him, leaving her with the difficult job of extricating herself from him and escaping without being noticed. Inevitably, during the night, he would somehow end up in bed with his sleeping parents without them realizing it, and they would wake up to him lying with his head on her stomach.

Martha did nothing to deter this behavior. She was infatuated with him, and more than happy to have him cling to her. It was Jonathan who first noticed this unhealthy pattern. He had come in from the barn one afternoon to find them both asleep on the couch, _The Wizard of Oz _credits rolling on the television screen. He thought back to the day before, when Martha had told Clark she would be leaving him with his dad while she went grocery shopping – and he had spent close to half an hour clutching her legs until she finally agreed to take him with her.

Leaving Clark asleep on the couch, he managed to stir his wife awake and pull her into the kitchen. "This isn't healthy, Martha."

She frowned. "Taking naps?"

"No," he replied, a bit exasperated. "This. This…unnatural attachment he has to you."

Martha sighed, reaching forward to touch his shoulder. "Oh, _honey_. Is this about yesterday?"

"No, Martha, it's about the last _year_. We have got to nip this thing in the bud before it gets out of hand."

She rolled her eyes. "He's just a kid, Jonathan. He'll grow out of it and start hating me in due time, don't worry."

But Jonathan wasn't convinced, and after hearing his argument, Martha had no choice but to relent. She didn't want Clark to grow up and spend his life on the couch refusing to leave home. They both knew it would be easier to do this sooner rather than later.

Jonathan put him to bed that night. Clark didn't pay attention to one word of the story being read to him, anxiously looking around the room instead, waiting for her to walk in. Every so often, he would tap his father's shoulder and point to the door with questioning eyes. Without giving him a proper response, Jonathan finished the story, then tucked him in. Clark frowned in confusion as Jonathan kissed his forehead, and he pointed to the door again, this time with fervor. "Not tonight, son," was the only response he received before Jonathan walked out of the room, locking the door behind him.

Martha was waiting in the hall, pacing the floor and wringing her hands together nervously. "Did he go down all right?"

"He's fine," Jonathan replied dismissively before heading back downstairs.

But Martha stayed where she was, standing beside the closed door, listening as she heard her son begin to cry. Distraught, she began to pace faster, wrestling with the decision or whether or not to go in. When Jonathan came back upstairs, he found her sitting on the floor slumped against the door, her face buried in her hands as she listened to him continue crying.

Jonathan sighed, crouching down beside her. "Sweetheart, stop torturing yourself. He'll wear himself out soon, and I bet he'll sleep straight through the night."

"_Listen_ to him, Jonathan," Martha protested. "He's going to make himself _sick_ if he keeps crying like that."

Offering her a hand, he pulled her to her feet. "Come on. Let's go to bed."

As he led her toward the bedroom, she turned to look at the door. "We can't leave the door locked all night! What if there's a fire?"

"_Martha_."

The crying stopped half an hour later, but Martha didn't sleep. After Jonathan got up at the break of dawn and went out into the fields, Martha quickly hopped out of bed, pulled on her bathroom, and entered Clark's room. He was already sitting up in bed, halfheartedly playing with a toy airplane, his eyes lighting up when he caught a glimpse of her. "Hi, baby," she whispered, unable to suppress her grin as she approached him. He immediately sprung out of bed, practically bulldozing her. She pulled him up into her arms and held him tightly against her. Clark, meanwhile, could not possibly have looked happier if he tried.

Once the initial thrill of the reunion began to subside, Martha carried him back to bed, crawling under the covers with him. "Listen up, kiddo," she said, her arms circled around his little waist. "Because you and I need to talk. Well. I need to talk." Clark was still not quite up to forming words out loud just yet. "We need to set up some boundaries." And these were words he very clearly did not understand. "Spend some time apart. Not together." He frowned, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion. "Sometimes Mommy needs to have some time to herself, and sometimes Clark needs to spend some time with Daddy, who loves you very, very much. He wants to play with you too, you know," Martha explained. This seemed to make a fair amount of sense to Clark. "I can't always stay in bed with you while you fall asleep, and honey, you can't keep coming into bed with us every night. You know why?" Clark shook his head. He could not possibly fathom a situation in which he would not be wanted. "Because just like Mommy needs time to herself and Daddy needs time with you, Mommy and Daddy also need time _together_, just the two of us. Do you understand that?" Clark shook his head again. Martha sighed. "Well. You see, Daddy sometimes gets…frustrated when he doesn't get to spend time with Mommy. You understand _that_, right?" He nodded. This seemed simple enough. He himself certainly was not fond of spending time away from his mother. He could understand why his father would feel the same. "That's why. Do you think we could try working on these things?"

Clark pursed his lips, tilting his head as he considered this. After a moment, he nodded. Martha grinned, squeezing him and kissing the top of his head. "That's my boy."

In that moment she wondered if it would _really_ be so bad if he spent the rest of his life at home with her.


End file.
